


I'll Always Take Care of Ya, Mate

by heizl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, fluffy goodness, sniper takes care of sick scout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 04:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2837531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout comes down with a cold, and now it's Snipers responsibility to take care of the adorable Bostonian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Always Take Care of Ya, Mate

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I wrote for my best friend, Scoots, about a year ago when she came down with a cold.  
> Hopefully I did their accents justice!
> 
> Enjoy Scout and Sniper adorableness!

 

“Snipes, I'm _freezin_ ', man,” Scout sniffled, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arms in a poor attempt to keep himself warm.  
  


He pushed himself up to a stand from his spot on the dirty floor, Snipes never cleaned his place much, and took the spot next to him on the much too small for two people bench, leaning his head up against Sniper’s shoulder. He could smell faint traces of gunpowder on his vest, surprising considering how stuffy his nose was.  
  


Sniper's piece of crap van’s heater could hardly warm a blanket, let alone the whole living space, despite how tiny and cramped it was. It was already dreary outside, the sky dark and air cold. But, at times like this, the van would feel like they were inside an ice cube.

 

Sniper peered over at him from behind his yellow aviators, staring a bit too long before carefully, and gently, setting his rifle down on the tabletop, placing the rag he always used for cleaning time beside her.  
  


 "You alright, mate? Don’t quite look yerself.”  
  


Scout shook his head, his sniffles were loud as he tried to keep his nose from leaking all over the place, especially on Sniper's shirt. The man would never let him back in if he got his favorite shirt all snotty.   
  


“I unno. One second I’m colder than a witch’s tits, the otha’ I’m on fuckin’ fire!”  
  


Sniper pushed into Scout's chest with two long fingers, shoving him gently so he could get a better look at the runner. He angled his body, as well as he possibly could, eyes scanning his face, trying not to travel further down his body.  
  


Sniper yanked the brown leather half glove off his hand, tossing it aside. He felt against Scout's forehead with the back of his hand, quickly pulling away. It felt like Scout was two hundred degrees, literally, like he was going to just burst into flames at any moment.   
  


“Crikey, mate, your burnin’ up. Have you seen the doc lately?”  
  


Scout shook his head, pausing between shakes to sneeze. He gave the other man a miserable look, his mouth in a frown, cheeks pink and nose sore. He hastily fell into Sniper's lap, face pushed into his legs, coughs muffled.   
  


Sniper bit his lower lip, forcing himself to hold back a chuckle. Scout was too cute to handle sometimes, but whenever he caught himself thinking that, he'd force those thoughts to go away, and lock them up.   
  


His fingers found themselves in Scout's messy hair, spreading through the strands of different colors of browns and dark blondes. His hand slowly traveled down his spine, trailing one finger at a time until he met the small of his back, giving the kid a gentle pat.   
  


Sniper basked in this moment, this moment of just being completely open and relaxed with this kid, this dumb kid he adored so much. He felt his hand become shaky, well rather, shakier, and his chest became filled with a warmth. He cursed himself for feeling like this, like he was a damn schoolgirl with a crush on the most popular boy in school.  
  


Feelings of panic started to rise in him, those emotions coming back up that he didn't want to face... He cleared his throat to break the growing, comfortable, silence.  
  


"Come on," Sniper said as he grabbed Scout's broad yet still fragile shoulders. They came to a stand together, very slowly and very reluctantly as neither of them wanted to move, but they couldn't stay in that position forever.    
  
“Do you need me to tuck you in, or can you do it yerself?”

Scout sneezed again, taking a single step before falling over and onto the compact bed, sinking into the shitty mattress. He pushed his face into the pillow with a huff of air.  
 

“I’m nevah movin’ from this bed again. Just lemme die here.”  
  


Sniper rolled his eyes, letting out a small sigh, not of annoyance, but... something else, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe contentment?  
  


He carefully pulled the covers out from under Scout's lean body, placing them over him, covering his entire person. He leaned over to reach into the thin but tall closet, removing a folded up red knitted blanket, adding it to the collection of warmth surrounding the young man. His sheets were as thin as paper and the blanket didn't add much of anything else except weight, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.   
  


Sniper found himself staring at the kid again, his still body and head pressed into  _his_ pillow... Maybe his whole bed would still smell like him even after he left. He leaned back up against the teensy counter in his kitchen, if you could call it that; there just being a fridge, stove and sink. He clenched his fingers up against the brim of the counter, nails digging into the metal edging.   
  


He took a deep breath before a thought hit him. He felt a smile forming, lips perking up on the edges.   
  


“I remember, when I was a youngin’ my mum would always make me chicken noodle soup when I was sick. Always made me feel betta'.”  
  


Scout turned his head ever-so-slightly, an eye peaking out. His nose was now a light red, eyes glossed over. He would have made a comment about the Aussie’s age, but he was just too damn tired. “Ma always use ta make me that too.”  
  


Sniper's smile, almost too faint to see, remained as he turned to stare up at the wooden overhead cabinets, back facing Scout. He spent many a minute opening and closing each one, disappointment washing over him. He swore he had a can left, somewhere. He rifled through the sparse contents of each pantry, until, aha!   
There was one can, dusty and a bit worn, but it would do.  
  


“Comin’ ‘ight up.”  
  


Sniper moved around the minuscule sad excuse for a kitchen, finding the pan he always used for soup. He placed it on the stove, pouring out all of the noodley contents.   As it started to heat up, he looked over his shoulder, Scout struggling to keep his baby blue eyes open. That sensation of his chest filling with warmth came back, his jaw clenching. Turning off the stove, he found a nearby towel to remove the pan, fiddling around to get a small red, of course, plastic bowl to pour the yellow liquid into.   
  


Sniper walked back over to the sick boy, dish in one hand, spoon in the other. He sat down beside Scout, mattress dipping, sheets shuffling and sliding with a quiet noise. His thumb traced over the rim of the bowl.   
  
“Sorry this ain’t your nice home-made soup, but it—“  
  
“Feed me,” Scout interrupted, throwing himself to lay on his back, lip pouting.   
  


“You hav’ta be bloody kiddin’ me,” Sniper gave Scout a long stare, but the more he looked, the more Scout would whimper and give his best "puppy dog" eyes. 

Sniper scooped some content into the spoon, not without a sigh. “Alright. You want to behave like a child, we'll treat you like a child. Say ‘aaaaah’.”  
  


“Aah," Scout mumbled out, opening his mouth. "Faggot."  
 

Sniper shook his head with a nonchalant eyeroll. He continued this routine; scooping soup, getting soup into his mouth, repeat. He kept at this until the runner's eyes started to flicker and flutter, again.   
  


“Get some rest, love,” The Aussie placed the dish down, the sound of plastic hitting linoleum nearly inaudible.   
  


Scout, with a nod of the head, let his eyes come to a full close. Sniper, at his own pace, stood, reaching to scoop up the bowl. Before he could get even a full step, he felt a tug on his vest.  He froze in his tracks, grip on the dish becoming tighter. He glanced behind him, their eyes meeting.   
  


“…Thanks,” Scout mumbled, coughing afterwards. “For takin’ care of me, I mean."  
  


Scout released his grip on the soft, worn fabric, hand falling to his side.   
  
  
Sniper, heart racing, thumping in his chest, so loud he could count every beat, placed the nearly empty bowl in the metal sink, drips of water falling and running down into the center.  
  
  
He found himself, again, making his way over to the young runner. He crouched, knees cracking and breath uneven, but their eyes locked. "You know I would always take care of you," he said, nearly a whisper.   
  


Scout, he couldn't do anything but stare. Just stare at this man. This strange but amusing man that he had grown to care about so much. His mouth opened, agape, about to speak before he made the choice to not.    
  


The time passed, seconds ticking by, a minute gone possibly.   
  


He didn't have the right words, he never would have the right words. So he sat in silence and let a smile come across his face. And even with that bright red runny nose and those incredibly tired eyes, he still looked just as adorable. Just as perfect.  
  


Sniper could feel his heart about to burst, and for just that one moment, he allowed himself to feel what he was feeling. As he looked at his calmness, took in his pleasure and just enjoyed his company, he was so glad he met Scout. Glad Scout, as annoying as he was, and is, came up to him out of the blue and didn't cease talking even when the old gunman ignored him. He was glad he was  _his_ Scout. No one else's.   
  


He leaned over, chin touching his warm forehead, and he hesitated for a moment, filled with self doubt. He really did not know if Scout felt the same way about him as he did. But, regardless, he pressed his lips against his skin, a gentle kiss.   
  


"Go to sleep, roo." 

Scout nodded once more, shifting his position, back facing Sniper. Sniper got up, about to return to his bench to clean the forgotten gun when he heard a noise. A sniffle, followed by, “Yah still a fag."  
  


Sniper could feel himself start to chuckle.   
“Love ya, mate.”

   
  
**Four days later**

 

 

Sniper was sat in his perch, kukri and his worn rag in hand.   
  


Scout sat next to him on an empty crate, mindlessly tossing his ball up then catching it, telling Snipes a story about something, Sniper wasn't too sure of what.   
Sniper ran the cloth against the silver flat of the blade, rubbing away the fingerprints, dirt, whatever grossness touched his weapon.   
  


Then, he sneezed. Scout paused from his tale with a look of surprise. Sniper knocked off his hat with the back of his hand, yanking away his glasses. He felt against his forehead with a long, loud sigh.   
  


 “Oh, bugga.”

 

 

 


End file.
